


Try A Little Harder

by Gravelowls



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Caregiver Bucky Barnes, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Gen, Littles Are Known, Non-Sexual Age Play, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravelowls/pseuds/Gravelowls
Summary: 1943: In complete denial about his classification, Steve refuses to be anything other than a Neutral or Dominant, while Caregiver Bucky patiently waits for Steve’s classification to finally be official so he can legally adopt his Little.Present Day: As Captain America, Steve Rogers is 100% Neutral. When he is unexpectedly de-serumed by Hydra; however, Steve Rogers is 100% Little and has no idea how to cope with the onslaught of his suppressed classification. Luckily he has a Caregiver still patiently waiting for him.





	Try A Little Harder

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first foray into Littles. I don't particularly like the idea of Captain America being a Little, but I'm intrigued by the idea of puny Steve Rogers being a Little, despite having all the heart and big personality of Captain America.

1943:

Bucky watched surreptitiously from his spot on the couch as Steve struggled to fasten the buttons on his pants, his fingers seemingly refusing to navigate the small pieces of plastic through their holes. After letting out a few frustrated huffs, he finally managed to finagle the first button into its hole. Realizing he had 4 more buttons to go, Bucky saw the exact moment Steve decided 'screw it' and opted to just tie his belt, leaving the remaining buttons unbuttoned. Not wanting to ignite Steve's perpetually short fuse (which seemed to be getting shorter and shorter everyday), Bucky didn't say anything. And he definitely didn't offer to help. He learned his lesson last week when he offered to help Steve with his bootlaces. Jesus. He'd had no idea Steve's face could get so red.

While the belt would keep his pants up, it still presented the problem of having his fly gapping open. Never mind that all it displayed was more of Steve's tucked in shirt, Bucky knew Steve wouldn't dare go outside in such a state. The obvious option was to simply untuck his shirt, but apparently he was unwilling to leave their apartment in such a state of dishevelment. Bucky knew Sarah Rogers' voice was in Steve's ear lecturing him on public decency. In the end, Steve grabbed Bucky's coat and tugged it on without so much as a glance at the coat's owner. Steve's own waist length coat would be too short to cover his open fly.

Bucky felt something soft and warm unfurl through his veins as Steve was engulfed in his jacket. At 5'2" and a mere 90lbs, Steve looked like he was wearing a blanket rather than a coat. Bucky was 6'2" and had almost 70lbs on Steve, so the coat fell below Steve's knees and well passed his hands. If he could help it, Steve never wore Bucky's clothing. He hated the stark contrast of their builds. Seeing his roommate's face getting redder and redder with embarrassment, Bucky said not a single word as Steve stumbled on his way to the front door, shoved his feet in his boots (not even attempting the laces), and stomped out the door to get a quart of milk.

As soon as the door closed, Bucky let out the fond chuckle he had been withholding. Steve was ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous, and in complete and utter denial of his future classification, which was slowly, but surely making itself known. To be guiltily honest with himself, Bucky was over the moon with the way things were playing out. To the surprise of no one, Bucky had been confirmed as a Caregiver a few months ago on his 20th birthday. Once his classification had come through he hadn't been able to stop dreaming of having a Little of his own. He'd always loved interacting with Littles. They were just so friggin' cute. Especially these days with the war casting a shadow over the world. They were sweet Little beacons of happiness with their propensity for giggling and smiling.

Steve still had a couple of months before his 20th birthday and his official classification testing, but so far he was displaying the textbook signs of someone transitioning into a Little: he was quicker to anger (which Bucky hadn't thought possible. _Geez Louise_.) and became easily frustrated over simple matters that had never bothered him before; he was becoming prone to crying whenever he hurt himself, no matter how minor (though he was quick to turn his back before Bucky could see the first fall of tears); he was experiencing difficulty with coordination - beginning to stumble and trip over nothing and his dexterity was decreasing. He also had zero interest in sex. Oh, he'd made a big fuss early on about wanting to kiss girls, but as soon as Samantha Palmer had laid one on him (to the envy of many), he'd never mentioned it again, clearly traumatized. Not to mention, physically he was the perfect Little – short, slight, almost no body hair, and big, expressive, childlike eyes.

Surprisingly, society was equally accepting of all 5 classifications: Dom, Sub, Neutral, Caregiver, and Little. There wasn't any social stigma towards the "weaker" of the classifications, namely Sub and Little. In actuality, the other four classifications loved Littles. They were the rarest of the 5, but the most beloved. It was accurate to say that while no one wanted to be a Little, everyone was thrilled Littles existed. Except for Steven Grant Rogers. Forever contrary, he was the only person Bucky knew who didn't like being around Littles. It was obvious now that Steve had always had some sort of inkling of his classification and didn't like being faced with his future reality. Especially since he was fiercely independent and once officially classified as a Little, he would be legally paired with a Caregiver. Obviously, that would be Bucky. Although, that wasn't quite so obvious to Steve, the little ostrich with his head in the sand.

Unfortunately, Steve had a lot of pride. As soon as they had learned about classifications in school, Steve had been adamant that he would be either a Dominant or a Neutral.

Knowing from a young age that he would be a Caregiver, Bucky did nothing to hide his tendency to mother hen, which had always, always annoyed Steve who had constantly shunned any sort of affection from Bucky unless it was a manly slap on the back. Once Bucky had been classified, Steve didn't even allow that much physical contact. He'd never say anything to Steve, but the rejection stung. Just like Doms needed Subs and vice versa, Caregivers needed Littles. They needed someone to care for and love (as much as the sappiness of it made Bucky cringe). Without a Little of their own, Caregivers typically turned their overabundance of affection on their friends and family. So to have Steve turn him away, made him physically ache. Caregivers made excellent nurses, teachers, and babysitters.

Fortunately, as much as he didn't want to be coddled, Steve also didn't want to become an icicle in the Winter months. Bucky could never quite quash the giddy bubble of happiness that erupted at the first signs of Winter because that meant cuddling for warmth would soon have to happen. Living paycheck to paycheck in their shabby, poorly insulated, one bedroom apartment meant heat was a luxury used only to ensure the pipes didn't freeze. As soon as he thought the temperature had dropped low enough that he could get away with it, Bucky would shuffle over to Steve's bed and whine about how he was cold and make like Steve was doing him a favour. Never mind that Bucky ran hot like a furnace, which was a physical feature of all Caregivers meant to provide comfort to Littles. He'd cuddle up behind Steve and wrap him in his arms, relishing the soft contented sigh a warm, sleepy Steve would be too comfortable to suppress.

The only other instances when Steve would allow Bucky to help him was when he was sick with pneumonia and too weak to do anything on his own or when he was delirious with fever and had no clue what was going on.

Bucky's heart ached a bit for what would soon begin happening in regards to Steve's bodily functions. Once the incontinence began, Steve would be crushed. So far his tiny roommate had been completely ignoring the signs. He tripped? The goddamn floor's uneven. He keeps missing his mouth with his fork? Just tired from working all day. The previous night during dinner, Steve had missed his mouth and accidentally stabbed his chin. He'd dropped his fork with a clatter and clutched at his chin with a surprised, little sob before running to the bedroom to hide his tearful reaction from Bucky. Bucky wanted nothing more than to go after him, but he knew his hugs and kind words wouldn't be welcome. Steve had gotten control of himself after a minute and returned without saying anything.

It was getting to the point where everyone was beginning to notice. Always one for brawling, Steve had never shied away from a fight – always jumping in to defend someone getting bullied. The amount of fights he attempted to pick now was ludicrous. As though desperate to prove he was a Dominant, Steve was picking fights with anyone who looked at him wrong. Unfortunately for him, as soon as they got a good look at him with his petite build and delicate features (despite being screwed up in anger), they backed off. No one fought Littles. It just wasn't done. The first time a guy walked away, Steve seemed to think he had scared the dude off and had strutted around with a confident swagger for two days after. It wasn't until a drunk, who had been feeling up an unwilling female in an alley, refused to fight him. Adding insult to injury, he had proceeded to use a cutesy voice to speak to him, "Well, hiya, Little fella! What are you doing out here?" Looking at Bucky he had managed to sound chastising while slurring out, "Take your Little home, man. It's too late out here for him."

Steve had been absolutely livid. Bucky had to literally drag Steve, kicking and screaming, out of the alley to prevent him from attacking the drunkard.

It would only be a matter of weeks before the incontinence began and Steve wouldn't be able to explain it away. His classification would be unavoidable and Bucky knew his Stevie would be devastated.

Bucky's musings were interrupted by the aggressive opening and slamming of the apartment door by one scowling, stomping Steve.

"Whoa, Stevie. What's wrong with you?"

"Don't call me that!" Steve spat out with a surprising amount of vitriol. Bucky was willing to bet another Little incident had occurred.

Raising his hands up in a defensive position, Bucky said, "Okay, okay. Geez, pal, sorry." He was about to ask again what was wrong when he noticed Steve had two bottles of milk. Which would be fine if they had the funds for two bottles. Which they didn't. Steve was only supposed to get one, "Uh, Steve, why do you have two bottles?"

Somehow Steve's glower grew more aggressive, "Because Ms. Henderson is blind as a bat and doesn't know her own nose from a toad in the ground." With that he slammed the milk bottles on the table and made his way into the bedroom. His dramatic exit undermined just a bit by his small stumble as he entered the bedroom.

Immediately, Bucky understood. Ms. Henderson was not blind. She knew exactly what she was looking at when she looked at Steve. She had seen a teeny, tiny slip of a Little who was all alone and using the last bit of his money to buy milk. Obviously unable to help herself, she had given Steve a second bottle for free. Bucky grinned as he got up to put the milk away. It wasn't uncommon for people to help Littles as Ms. Henderson had helped Steve. Usually the Littles were happy and grateful, especially since supply was growing shorter and shorter. Bucky could only imagine Steve's inner war when faced with Ms. Henderson's kindness – he'd understood why she was doing it, but as much as he hated it, free milk was free milk.

Bucky schooled his features and coughed to cover his coo as Steve came back out into the living room wrapped up in a blanket and curled up in the corner of the couch with his sketchbook. God help Bucky, but the cutest Little he'd ever seen was also the grouchiest. He couldn't wait until Steve was classified and was legally Bucky's Little.

July 5th, 1943:

Steve was in the Classification Office of City Hall and Bucky was pacing the waiting area with the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. His cheeks were starting to hurt, but he couldn't help it. By the end of today, he would finally have his Little. If only the building hadn't been closed on Steve's actual birthday of July 4th, he'd have his Little by now. He had dressed in his good church clothes, much to Steve's bewilderment. When Steve had asked, Bucky had just shrugged saying something about going dancing later. In reality, Bucky had wanted to make sure he dressed the part of a responsible Caregiver so the Court could see he had it together. In his inner jacket pocket he had his petition to become the Caregiver of one Steven Grant Rogers filed out and ready to be submitted. It just needed to signed by the Little in question, approved by the judge, and notarized. He'd had the paperwork filed out the morning after Steve's incontinence began a week ago.

Bucky had woken to the soft, muffled sobs of someone desperately trying to be quiet. Opening his eyes, he was faced with the heartbreaking sight of a wet, shivering Steve quietly stripping his bed, fingers struggling with untucking the tight corners. His whole body shook with each sob as he was finally faced with the undeniable evidence – he was a Little.

'This is it' Bucky decided. 'No more denying it.' Sitting up, he quietly called Steve's name, putting as much soothing calm into his tone as possible, "Stevie?"

Steve jerked up as though he'd been electrocuted. As soon as he saw Bucky was awake, his face crumpled and he started outright sobbing, unable to stop himself.

"Oh Steve," Bucky rushed over and enveloped his overwhelmed friend his arms. Swaying them back and forth, Bucky softly promised that everything was alright and that he'd take care of everything. Rather than calming Steve down, those words had Steve choking on sobs and hyperventilating. Immediately scooping Steve up into is arms, Bucky sat on his own clean bed and placed Steve on his lap with his back to Bucky's chest. Taking deep breaths, Bucky went through the motions of guiding Steve through his panic attack. Once his sobs had died down and he was doing nothing more than hiccupping on Bucky's lap, an exhausted Steve let out one last shiver and melted back into Bucky, completely wiped and unwilling to hold himself up.

"There you go," Bucky maneuvered Steve so he was sitting sideways on his lap, head tucked under Bucky's chin, and wrapped his arms more tightly around his small bundle. "Go to sleep, Stevie. I'll take care of it." Within a few minutes, Steve was sound asleep and Bucky was left with the comfortable weight of his soon-to-be Little in his arms. It had finally happened. The last tumbler had fallen into place. It had felt like forever. Over the last two months Steve's Littleness had amped up to the point where almost every step he took while walking was a wobble. He'd even fallen a few times, but luckily only the apartment. That Bucky knew about anyway. Mealtimes were a bit of a nightmare. Steve had so much trouble cutting his own food, that Bucky had taken to pre-cutting both their meals (if Bucky didn't pre-cut his own as well, Steve would throw a tantrum about how Bucky was babying him). His speech had taken a bit of a hit as well. Lisping was generally thought to be one of the cutest things about Littles. The first time Steve had said 'Sowwy' instead of 'Sorry', Bucky had almost died from the cuteness. Steve, of course, had turned beet red and manfully cleared his throat before slowly enunciating 'Sorry'.

Bucky's reminiscing was interrupted by his name being called.

"Buck, I'm ready."

Looking up, he was met with peculiar sight. Steve was smiling, but his eyes were red-rimmed and his face was ashen. He was walking with a bit of a limp and he looked like he was going to be sick any second.

Tentatively, Bucky asked, "Is everything alright?" He wanted to immediately scoop Steve up and carry him home, but that wasn't an option just yet. He was confused still as Steve smiled even wider and handed his classification documentation to Bucky.

"Of course. I mean, I'd hoped for Dominant, but Neutral's fine too, I guess."

Bucky stared at the document, reading, but uncomprehending the words that classified Steve as a Neutral. He'd never experienced tunnel vision before, but he knew that's what was happening as his world slowly faded out around him. He swayed on his feet and could feel himself leaning backwards as if he was going to pass out.

"Bucky!" The sound of his panicked Little – no, not his Little, apparently – shook him out of his stupor. Steve had grasped his right arm to prevent him from falling.

"Neutral," He said faintly. Looking at the documentation, Bucky tried to read the entire page, but his eyes couldn't stray away from the red, official stamp of NEUTRAL on the bottom of the page. Looking up at a concerned Steve, his big, blue eyes wide with worry, Bucky did not understand, "How – but – you - you're a Little!"

As if burned, Steve immediately released Bucky's arm and retreated a few steps away. His eyes grew shifty as he said, "N-no, I'm a Neutral. Says so wight – I mean, r-right there."

Another thing about Littles, Bucky remembered, is that they're absolutely terrible liars. Can't lie worth beans. Stepping closer to Steve, he started to argue, but was interrupted by a disheveled, ferrety-looking man calling out Steve's name.

"Mr. Rogers!"

Bucky watched as Steve flinched before turning around to face the approaching man.

"Yes, Mr. Davison?"

Giving Steve a weird, creepy smile, Mr. Davison handed Steve a square piece of paper with an address and time scribbled on it, "You forgot your appointment card. In such a rush to get out and celebrate your _Neutral_ designation, huh?" With a wink and a slight adjustment of his belt, he turned and headed towards his office.

Bucky had a very, very bad feeling about this entire situation. That feeling grew worse as Steve held the appointment card away from his body like it was going to bite him and shrunk in on himself as if hoping to hide in plain sight.

Wanting to get Steve home and safe, Bucky slowly approached, "Stevie? Wanna to go home?"

Not even looking at Bucky, Steve took a few wobbling steps towards the door and quietly said, "Yes, please."

The second they got through their door, Steve raced (as fast as his two left feet would allow anyway) towards the kitchen sink and threw up. He threw up his breakfast and once that was gone, he retched up bile. The entire time Bucky was right behind him whispering soothingly and rubbing his back.

Once he was finally finished, Steve pulled away from Bucky and went to retrieve a glass for some water.

Feeling his own eyes begin to well up, Bucky quietly said, "Steve, I _know_ you're a Little and I _know_ what that disgusting bastard did to you. After I beat him to death, I'm going to have his ass arrested."

At that, Steve drew himself up straight, took a shuddery breath, and looked Bucky dead in the eye, "I'm only going to say this once: I'm a Neutral. You mention my classification being anything other than Neutral again and we're done. I'll move out and won't look back." At his own words, Steve's chin wobbled and a few renegade tears trailed down his cheeks.

Bucky was at a loss. Looking at Steve, he knew he wasn't bluffing, but he also knew Steve was a Little and couldn't be on his own. Unfortunately, right now legally Steve was a Neutral and there was nothing Bucky could do to force him. He wasn't Bucky's Little.

Steve added quietly, "Go dancing, Buck. You're all dressed up for it."

Wordlessly, Bucky turned to leave, but not before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his Caregiver petition. Handing it to Steve, he walked out the door, closing it quietly.

He made it to the end of the hall before he heard the smashing of a glass.

Four weeks later Bucky had been shipped out. It tore him apart to leave Steve, but Steve had wanted nothing to do with him. He had ended up moving out the same day as his classification. Once Steve saw that Bucky had wanted to become his Caregiver, he realized that Bucky would never look at him as anything other than a Little. By the time Bucky had gotten back from his walk a few hours later, Steve had been gone. He'd ended up renting what was basically a closet in the worst part of town.

It took Bucky a week to find out where Steve had moved. When asking around, Bucky had learned that initially nobody wanted to rent to a lone Little. Not that they didn't want him in their building, just that they were worried that he didn't have a Caregiver. It wasn't until he had showed his classification documentation that they even considered him.

It took another two weeks for Steve to speak to him and it was only because Bucky had told him that he was being shipped out. Steve's face had fallen, a mixture of deep sorrow and jealousy. Bucky knew one of the reasons Steve desperately didn't want a Little was so he could join the Army like his father. Littles weren't allowed to join. Neither were Caregivers who had Littles of their own. As Bucky didn't have a Little, he'd been drafted. Now that Steve was registered as a Neutral, Bucky had to pray that the Army wouldn't accept him based on his slew of health issues. Steve's asthma alone should prevent him from being accepted.

Bucky should've known.

A few months later, Captain America dragged Bucky's ass off Hydra's steel table.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I would absolutely appreciate any feedback. I'm a little apprehensive because I know this is a controversial theme for some people.


End file.
